


Ouroboros

by 13starbuck42



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Makeup Sex, Tumblr Prompt, Unremarkable house, fight, ouroboros, post the truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13starbuck42/pseuds/13starbuck42
Summary: Mulder and Scully fight (and make up) as they move into the Unremarkable House.





	Ouroboros

_We are home, we are together, and we are safe._

I repeat this mantra as I begin to unpack our belongings.  I haul boxes and bags and bins of things from one room to the next, up the stairs and down.  Into the kitchen and the bedroom and the office. 

Mulder has run out for more cleaning supplies and a few staple grocery items, but he has promised he won’t be long as long as the roads are clear of snow.  While he is away, the furniture movers call and tell me the snow is slowing their progress; they won’t make it until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, so I search for the sleeping bags.  I find them in a carefully-labeled bin, buried underneath a lantern and an induction burner and half a dozen flashlights. I set them aside, near the bottom of the stairs, with the pillows from the bed and the box labeled “linens.”  

As I survey the room, I notice a banker’s box balanced atop the “kitchen” bin.  “Office” is scrawled across the top and sides in Mulder’s distinct handwriting, and I raise my brow in question because I had done the labeling while he had done the packing.  The box is not heavy, and a lift of the lid reveals shuffles of paper stacked haphazardly inside. I am ready to assume it’s full of newspaper articles and case files, but an image catches my eye just before I replace the lid.  

An ouroboros.   _My_ ouroboros, specifically.  

Beneath the photograph I discover more images, printouts from the internet and photocopies from books.  I discover pages upon pages of research; more than half the box is filled with photos and documents. There are myths and facts here, highlighted and underlined; notes and references fill the margins and my name appears on nearly every page.  But this is not the case file from 1997; there is no mention of Ed Jerse or ergot or the hallucinations.

I am confused, and as I sift through the box reading page after page of Egyptian history, Norse legend, and alchemy I discover that I am also angry.  Mulder has been researching… me.  I shove the papers back in the box and slam the lid in place, holding fast to the corners. My knuckles are white with anger and I fight tears.  I feel betrayed, and open the box once more.

Mulder returns to find me still on the living room floor, surrounded by papers and pictures from the “office” box.  He stands there, his arms loaded with groceries and disinfectant and a broom, and I look at through tear-filled eyes and boiling blood.  He divests himself of the bags and sets about the task of putting away his purchases. He opens the refrigerator, avoiding eye contact. “That one’s mine,” he says with a calculated tone, trying hard sound as though he is not accusing me of snooping.  He turns and nods at the box, looks around at the items strewn about the room. “It can all go into the office. I’ll put it away if you want to put this stuff in the fridge.”

“Mulder, what is all this!” I demand.  

“Research.  It must have been in the desk.  The drawer is broken, so I had to clean everything out before I loaded it up.  I just dumped everything in the box.” He looks genuinely bewildered, and shrugs his shoulders off-handedly, but I am too upset to notice.  

“I don’t understand, Mulder.  This isn’t the case file… this is pictures of me, pictures of my tattoo and pages and pages of notes and articles and internet searches,” I cry.  “Why do you have all this?”

“I just… it’s research, Scully.  Let me box it up, ok? Or I can throw it out, if you’d rather.  I don’t need it for anything anymore.” He is reserved and it infuriates me.  

“Help me understand.  What are you researching, exactly?  Why is my name all over these pages?  Mulder, this feels… this feels like… like you’re _spying_ on me!” I spit the words at him, and rise up onto my knees, pushing up off the ground until I am standing up straight.  Staring him down across the room. Demanding an answer. He hangs his head and sets down the rag and window cleaner in his hand.  Mulder takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

He closes the distance between us in two strides and holds me gently by the shoulders.  “Scully…” he sighs. “At first, I just wanted answers. And then, when you told me about the cancer, I thought I _needed_ answers.  I thought everything was connected somehow…” he trails off, proverbial tail between his legs.  

“Answers?  You wanted answers?!  Answers to what, Mulder?  Answers to what?! Connected how!?” I am unrelenting and demanding, despite his calm demeanor and embarrassment.  But he answers me.

“At first, I wanted to understand why you go the tattoo in the first place.  We didn’t really discuss it, Scully, other than that first day back from Philadelphia, and I wanted to know more.  So I did some research. I dug up everything I could find about the Ouroboros, about its history and its meaning. I thought if I could understand what it meant, I could understand why you… why you got the tattoo.”

“Why the hell didn’t you just ask me?”

He throws his hands up.  “Because… damnit, because then you told me you had cancer.  And I thought maybe that was why you got the tattoo.”

“You thought I got a tattoo because I had cancer.”  

“Yes.  No! I don’t know.  Damnit, Scully! You came back from Philly so pissed off - about the desk and the nameplate.”  I raise my eyebrow at this because he is dead fucking wrong right now. “Anyway, at first I thought it was just an act of rebellion.  I thought you were doing the most un-Scully-like thing imaginable and I wanted to know why you chose the Ouroboros. But I know it was more than that, I know that now.  He pauses. “Because then you told me you had cancer.”

Mulder looks away, out the window, down at his feet.  “You had the diagnosis before you went to Philadelphia, Scully.  So, I continued my research while you were in the hospital, while you were dying.  I was losing you and I needed something to keep me close to you, to give me hope. I got lost in the study and the mythology and the romanticism of it, Scully, I won’t deny that.  But through all of that this Ouroboros, this, this... symbol of eternity, of creation and destruction, of life and death… Scully, it gave me hope. Hope for the future, for you, and for me… and for us.  I’m still not sure why it’s what you chose, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, Scully.” His voice is hushed, the vigor of fight gone.

“But why didn’t you just _ask me_?”  I press for more.  “We don’t keep secrets, Mulder.  This relationship is built on trust, you know that.”  My heart aches.

“When you came back from Philly, it was just curiosity.  I should have just asked. I should have asked you that day you sat across from me in the office, playing with that damn rose petal.  I’m sorry, Scully, I’m sorry for that.” Mulder sighs. “But I wanted to figure out what upset you, try to make it better. I wanted to fix it, and I thought that somehow, your tattoo held the answers.  And then…” I see tears in his eyes now, and he doesn’t fight them. Mulder reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear, frames my face with his warm hands. He leans down to kiss my forehead and I wrap my arms around his waist as he draws me in, seeking apology and forgiveness.

“Scully, I nearly lost you,” he whispers into my hair, then pulls back to look into my eyes.  Gentle tears stream down his cheeks, marking dark grey splotches on his t-shirt as they fall. When I got you back, it didn’t matter anymore.”  He kisses me then, softly. “I don’t care why you got the fucking tattoo, or why you chose the Ouroboros. I don’t care if you get another one tomorrow.  It’s not important, none of that is important, not anymore.” He kisses me again, deeper this time. “What is important,” he says, landing kisses anywhere he can find bare skin, “is that we are here now.  We are home.  We are together.  We are safe.” 

I feel warmth spread outward from my core as his mouth covers mine, and the comfort of forgiveness is replaced by desire at an alarming rate.  I reach up to twist my fingers in his hair, moaning softly as he tugs the neck of my sweater to the side, exposing my shoulder. He trails his tongue across my skin until he reaches my throat, and his hands pull at my sweater, drag it over my head; my camisole and bra disappear just as quickly.  Mulder’s eyes burn into mine and suddenly everything is on fire.

I turn to draw the curtains, but his hands reach up to still mine.  “We don’t have to hide anymore,” he says, barely audible, and his breath in my ear makes me wet.  He draws his hands down my arms, smooths his palms across the bare skin of my torso, splays his fingers until they sink below the waist of my leggings.  Mulder smooths them down the length of my legs and I lift my feet to remove them completely. He kisses my ankle, the backs of my knees, the backs of my thighs, up my spine, the nape of my neck.  I feel him, pressed against me, straining against the confines of his clothing.

“I love you, Scully,” he whispers.  He traces the line from my shoulder to the curve of my waist, so softly.  “You are beautiful.”

“I love you,” I reply, and his hands come around to cup my breasts.  Mulder squeezes gently, kneads and rolls and pulls until I am panting.  I reach behind me, grasping for the hem of his shirt, the buckle of his belt, the zipper of his jeans, anything to give me leverage.  He chuffs softly into the back of my neck and pulls away. I look over my shoulder in time to catch him stepping out of his pants. “Mulder,” I whine quietly, needing to feel him, and he breaks eye contact to take his shirt off.  And then there he is, his body pressed to mine, so close there’s no room for air between us.

Mulder slips an arm around me, fingers seeking my center only to find it slick with desire.  He thrusts against my hip; I push back and he groans my name. “Jesus, Scully…” He finds my center, slipping two fingers inside and out again, over and over, moving his thumb over and around my clit in an agonizing rhythm.  He drops kisses across my shoulders, nips at my neck, pulls my earlobe into his mouth and uses his tongue to mimic the movements of one hand while the other clutches greedily at my breasts. I feel my orgasm building, and lean back against his chest, tilting my head to the side to afford him better access to my neck.  His thumb is focused on my clit, moving in rhythm with my rolling hips. The bright white darkness begins to seep in the sides of my vision and I can’t help but squeeze my eyes closed and hold my breath as I tumble over the edge into oblivion.

The window is cold when I rest my cheek on the glass.  My arm stretches above my head, and I brace myself as he sinks himself inside me.  The pace he sets is unrelenting, and he steadies himself with one arm on the window frame.  The other lingers in the curls at my sex. I place my hand over his, guiding his fingers to once again match the rhythm of my hips.  His breath is ragged and furious and hot, and he murmurs i love yous into every inch of my skin. “So close,” I whisper. “Mmm, baby, come for me,” he hums in my ear as he drives deeper into me.  I abandon his hand, setting him free to rub my clit however he sees fit, and hold myself against the window with both palms pressed against the glass. My nipples repeatedly graze the frosted pane, the sensation sending a shiver over my skin.  My eyes close of their own accord as the orgasm ripples through my entire body, curling my toes and clenching my fists and arching my back and tightening around him. “Fuck, Scully… gonna come!” Mulder growls as he begins to lose control, his rhythm frantic and desperate.  “Oh God,” he cries out as he comes, “Oh fuck… oh fuck Scully…” He sags into me, crushing me into the cold window and I shift to bear his weight. He straightens, standing on shaky legs, and holds me close. He nuzzles his nose behind my ear, placing soft kisses there as he sighs.  

When I open my eyes, I see him, looking at me in the reflection of the window.  “You are so beautiful,” he tells me, and I believe him.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m killing three tumblr prompt birds with one stone here: an anon prompt for the fight/make-up sex prompt, Ouroboros prompt (Scully discovers Mulder has been researching her tattoo), and for the visual prompt (Scully naked and pressed up against the glass with snow gently falling outside of the unremarkable house).


End file.
